Date: Sat, 14 Jul 2007 13:40:34 -0700 (PDT)
From: Toby Tyler
Subject: Seventh Grade Foot Slave Chapter 6b
Seventh Grade Foot Slave
By Toby Tyler
tobyt_yler@yahoo.com
This is my first story. If you like it, have any comments or suggestions,
you can email me at tobyt_yler@yahoo.com. If you have no interest in
reading about boys with foot fetishes, or if it is not legal for you to
read such material, leave now.
Chapter 6b
"Hey Brad," I exclaimed, eager to give him the news. "They're having
a smelly sneaker contest at W. R. Colt Elementary! The grand prize is
$500 and a new pair of sneakers from Footsie's Shoe Store!"
"And why should I care?"
"Well, I was thinking we could enter your sneakers in the contest! If
you won you'd get a new pair" I explained. "If you did win, it would
be nice if you gave me this pair" I added, hopefully, kissing the
sneaker on his foot.
"Fuck you."
"Uh, Brad?"
"Yeah?"
"Would you like me to suck your dick again?"
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Yeah, I'd really love to do it!" I desperately hoped that Brad would
let me suck his dick again. I couldn't stop thinking about the first
time, and I really wanted to taste his cum.
"Well, maybe I don't want you slobbering all over my dick. It's sticky
and disgusting."
"I could jack you off, and then eat all your cum so there wouldn't be a
mess," I pleaded. "Wouldn't you like that?"
"Would you just lay off, Toby? I said no and I mean no."
"Well, if I can't suck you off can I bite your toenails for a bit?
It's kinda boring around here and I'm looking for something to do."
"You did my toenails yesterday. Look, there's really nothing to do
around here today. I just wanna look at pornos and jack off. Why don't
you just go home and do the same?"
"Oh, come on, Brad!" I was getting really frustrated. "I offered to
suck your dick and you'd rather just jack off? Can't I at least watch
you and eat your cum?"
"I want some private time."
I picked up one of Brad's worn t-shirts off the floor. He had worn that
shirt for a few days without washing it, and it had really begun to
stink. I put it up to my nose.
"Your shirt smells great," I told him. "Can I borrow it? I promise
I'll bring it back tomorrow."
"Okay, but if you get any cum on it I'm gonna be really pissed. That's
my favorite shirt."
I could see that I would get nowhere if I tried to convince Brad to enter
his sneakers in the contest. I went home and jacked off while smelling
the scent of brad's sweaty armpits on his shirt. While I was jacking off
I kept thinking about how fun it would be to be a judge at the sneaker
contest. Think of all the sneakers I could be smelling!
As sheer luck would have it, Brad decided that week that it was time for
me to take his Nikes home and lick them clean for him. He had completely
forgotten what I had said about the smelly sneaker contest. I knew
exactly what I was going to do -- enter Brad's sneakers as my own and
try to win the prize.
It was held on a Saturday, and I had to take a bus into Bridgewood, the
neighboring town where the contest was being held. I felt a secret thrill
to be wearing Brad's sneakers on my own feet. I knew he would be pissed
off if he ever found out.
There weren't a whole lot of people in the Winston Remington Colt School
cafeteria to see the contest, but they did have a local TV crew there
doing a `human interest' story to put on the news that night. They were
interviewing the contestants. Most of the contestants were elementary
school kids, but a few were high school aged, maybe even college kids.
They all had nice, worn-out sneakers.
The sneakers were tagged and placed in a row on a table. Several times I
made it a point to nonchalantly pass by the sneaker table and try to get
a whiff. There were too many people milling around, so I couldn't do
what I really wanted to do, which was to shove my nose into every boy's
sneaker on the table. I could tell the boy's sneakers from the girls's
sneakers pretty easily by the color and style. I avoided the girls'
sneakers, which I had no interest in.
There were definitely some champion rotten sneakers on that table. I
inhaled deeply as others around me coughed and gagged.
The announcer was doing some theatrics for the camera. After about 15
minutes, the judges finally came on stage and inspected the sneakers,
carefully sniffing them and taking notes like they were professional wine
tasters. Then they announced the finalist of the junior division, for
kids 5 to 16 years old.
The junior finalist was an eight year old skater kid named Tristan Flamm.
God, the boy was cute! Tristan's hair was dyed a whimsical shade of
green, which added nicely to his skater style. I thought it was cute to
see the kid get all excited, high-fiving his parents, jumping up and down
and running to the table to get his trophy. The senior division finalist,
for anyone 17 and up, went to a sweaty, obese video-store clerk named
Milton Teele. Brad's sneakers, which I had registered as my own,
received a respectable Honorable Mention, but no prize.
Then the sneakers of the two finalists were placed side by side. The
judges took about five minutes to decide who would be the champion.
"The judges have made a decision!" The announcer announced. "The
winner, the champion with the foulest footwear is eight year old Tristan
Flamm!"
Little Tristan was bouncing up and down again, and his family and
classmates crowded around him and cheered. After the whole thing was over
a small crowd formed around Tristan as a local TV reporter interviewed
him for the nightly news. I listened in as well.
"Tristan, you've been winning smelly sneaker awards all over the
country for the past two years. So tell us, Tristan, what's your
secret?"
"I just keep wearin' em. Sometimes I wear em with socks, but most of
the time I wear 'em without. And I never wash my feet. I wear the same
socks until they fall apart."
What an amazing kid, I thought. I had admired his sneakers from afar and
would have liked to have had an opportunity to smell his feet up close. I
would have especially loved to have had an opportunity to get my hands on
that kid's socks.
To be Continued